AngelBuffy Oneshots
by Leni
Summary: Mostly BA from S2, pre SurpriseInnocence. Story 3: Key
1. Still Hunt

**DISCLAIMER:** raises eyebrow  
**WORDCOUNT:** 1200  
**SUMMARY:** As normal as I can make them. pre S/I Buffy/Angel.  
**A.N.:** Again, who'd guess that could be a help for title-searching?  
**DEDICATION:** Happy Birthday, Copper! A little late, I know. But my brain totally sucks for dates. smooch hugs **coppersinger**  
**FEEDBACK:** It's pretty. Isn't it pretty? hugs feedbackers  
**THANK YOU:** To **margotlefaye** for the help. grin

**STILL HUNT**  
_by Leni  
_

Buffy watched as he walked quietly half a block ahead. Until now he hadn't shown any signs of having spotted her presence. No hesitation as he kept going forward, no interrogative glances around, no concerned inspections of his surroundings. So far, so good.

Silently, she raced through the distance between them and shot her hand to his shoulder when she arrived at her goal. "Hey!"

Angel turned and didn't seem the least surprised as he smiled slightly. "Hey."

She frowned. That wasn't the reaction she'd been going for. She'd expected a wild startle at her sudden presence, or maybe even an instinctive fighting pose. God knew those were her usual greetings when Angel snuck up on her.

But he'd just smiled and welcomed her. Buffy smiled back and tried to hide her self-disappointment.

She had known that it was a bad idea. Earlier she'd set out to be the one to stalk him tonight. It wasn't the first time, either. It might seem a crazy idea, but Buffy had her reasons. They'd been together for weeks, and he still was the one to turn up unexpectedly at the Bronze, the cemetery, the library and that time at the mall when she'd been trying out the cutest little shoes. Weren't relationships about balance?

She was the Slayer. Not to brag, but she was the best hunter on the Hellmouth and Buffy thought that two consecutive years at the top of the food chain was proof enough. Okay, so there'd been that small death thingie at the Master's hands, but most everyone who knew of that slip was ashes in the wind. And in the end she'd come out improved from it, hadn't she?

Buffy knew she hadn't, but why ruin her friends' expectations? They didn't think her able to fear Death anymore, even Giles looked at her with an expression beyond pride and quite close to awe when he thought that she didn't notice. It was scary. It was another burden that she hadn't meant to carry. But Buffy sort of understood their eagerness to believe that she could overcome everything, and, anyway, Angel _did_ understand her and that was enough.

Point was, she was the Big Shot in this town. The terror of the underground, the blonde with the mean aim and meaner comebacks. Buffy knew she deserved her reputation, and yet Angel's touch at her arm or his voice right behind her made her jump like a girl during a horror movie. Tonight - and a couple of times every week - Buffy had wanted to return the favour.

She'd failed. _Again_.

"Are you okay?" he asked as he walked up to her.

She shrugged, trying not to pout as she met him midway and, out of habit, offered her hand.

He took it, but didn't move towards the nearby cemetery. He'd noticed that she wasn't her usual perky self. Angel privately thought that said perkiness shouldn't mix with their patrols, but Buffy was who she was. If she wanted to laugh and joke and dismiss the seriousness of these hours, then she would. Frankly, Angel had grown to like that part of her, too. It was refreshing. Now his brow furrowed as he tried to guess the cause for her moodiness. "Something wrong at school?"

She shook her head and nodded towards the main gate. To be sincere, school was at its best, considering. Willow was taking advantage of every nook between Big Bads and Snyders and her grades stayed above average. Even that ruthless Algebra teacher was impressed, not to mention her mother who'd hugged Buffy tightly after she saw the B+ on her test.

As she let her thoughts run, Angel walked at her side calmly. But he still wore that concerned expression. "Your mother, then? Your friends?" He kept on as she just replied a negative to each question. "Is Giles okay? Did Cordelia bother you again?"

Yes and not more than usual. She and Cordelia had reached a sort of understanding. Buffy saved her life and Cordelia tried to mince her words around her. Taking into account how cutting and to the core the brunette's comments could be, Buffy thought it was a pretty good exchange. Furthermore, it was kind of fun to pull Cordelia out of danger and get her beloved pricey clothes trashed along the way.

"Are you mad at me?"

That pulled Buffy out of her fond memory of Cordelia screeching at a broken heel. "No!" He cocked an eyebrow, looking at her in that way that made her feel all those two-hundred-seventeen years younger. "'S nothing," she mumbled sheepishly, and she tried to lead him further into the graveyard.

He stood his ground. "Buffy."

Buffy sighed. He said her name with just that mix of patience and exasperation. As if he would wait her out until she told him her concerns, but at the same time couldn't understand why she'd made him wait at all. She always responded to that tone, in a way not even Giles managed to make her respond to his orders during training. "I wanted something different tonight." This time she pouted, just a little.

"Different? Like actual coffee?"

She chuckled at that. They often said they'd go for coffee after patrol, and they often got distracted. Not by demons or other threats, but by increasingly intense make out sessions. As far as Buffy was concerned, those were _good_ distractions. When she glanced up at him, Buffy knew he was joking. Angel joking, that was enough to make her smile for real. "I wanted to surprise you," she admitted with a small shrug, as if it didn't really matter.

Angel knew it mattered. Her expression in the last five minutes were enough to tell him that. "Oh." He wouldn't offer a lie, like that she _had_ surprised him and he was a good faker. Besides, Buffy would see through it in a second; she already knew what a lousy faker he was. He also wouldn't give her false, over-the-top support. She didn't need that. "You're getting better," was all he said.

At first Buffy was a tad disconcerted. Her friends would at least pretend that it had been a good attempt; even Giles would encourage her more cheerily. Angel's words left her... smiling. Smiling? "Thank you," she told him. So he _had_ noticed when she'd tried to do the same before. And he _hadn't_ noticed her following so soon tonight. That was what his 'getting better' meant. Her smile turned into a grin and Buffy loosened his hand just to latch onto his arm. Leaning her cheek against his shirt, she looked up at him. "Want to hit the coffee shop after vamp number three?" Who knew, maybe they'd make it this time?

Angel seemed equally skeptical. He began to nod, but all of sudden the movement halted as he fixated on a point behind her. "What about vamp number five?"

Buffy turned and, sure enough, there were five vampires leering at them at a mausoleum's door. She sighed and disentangled herself from her boyfriend. Reaching for the first stake of the night, she took a second to blow a kiss at Angel. He seemed amused even as two of the vampires rushed to attack him.

Buffy took her stance and waited.

Number five it was.

**The End  
**16/01/06


	2. B is for Beacon

_**DISCLAIMER:** I wish.  
**WORDCOUNT:** 1100  
**SUMMARY:** pre S/I. "What he does is easy to tell, since she sleeps better now and she goes out more often and yet Sunnydale hasn't been overridden by vampires."  
**THANK YOU:** To Sharon (_**_evillittledog_**_) and Raya (_**_rayalight_**_), for the beta. SMOOCH  
**FEEDBACK:** Please?_

written for **_letterlove_**_Complete List__  
_

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**B IS FOR BEACON**

_by Leni_

---

Angel knows that she suspects, but she's never said a word. What he does is easy to tell, since she sleeps better now and she goes out more often and yet Sunnydale hasn't been overridden by vampires. But he doesn't want to be the one to tell her. It either comes out too smug and condescending or too meek in his head. In two hundred and fifty years, he hasn't had much practice with any other form to address other people. He tries his best with Buffy, and with Giles, but for this particular subject he can't find an appropriate approach.

In the end, he won't tell her because he doesn't want to look like a fool. Or worse, he fears, Buffy would feel obligated to pay him back. She doesn't owe him anything; that's not how they work. But she suspects; he knows she does. Maybe she's afraid to be wrong, that he'd feel inadequate in her expectations and draw away. Maybe she's afraid to be right, that he's doing it because he thinks that she's slacking off. And so they stay silent.

The problem is that if she doesn't speak up, he can't tell her that she'd be wrong on both accounts. He doesn't want to draw away from her, ever, and he really thinks that she does her best to protect Sunnydale. He isn't filling in; he's just backing her up. Because Slayer or not, Buffy is still a teenager. He is not.

She deserves a night at the Bronze with her friends, dancing and singing until their feet hurt and their throats feel scratched. She deserves the chance to do her homework properly, to show everyone at school that she isn't just a pretty face with a bad record. She deserves a good night's rest at least twice every week, not the three or four measley hours she gets after a thorough patrol. She deserves to spend her time as she sees fit, and if she wants to kiss him while they should be looking out for fledglings and other demons, Angel is selfish enough to play along.

But the Hellmouth is no game, and as much as Buffy willingly fights and sacrifices to rid her town from evil, he wants her to retain a semblance of a normal life. So he does an extra sweep, taking the longest route to the Bronze and always arrives late and smelling of blood or dust. She calls it 'playing Mystery Guy', and if she knows the truth, she makes sure not to mention it. She just smiles at him, pulls him onto the dance floor at the first slow song.

He is the one who nudges her to go to Willow's, maybe even sleep over after an hours-long cramming session for a coming exam or intensive research for a paper. Willow always calls just before time for patrol and often he'll find Buffy fiddling with the cord as she talks into the mouthpiece. Sometimes he'll sit at his girlfriend's side while she takes the redhead's call and will cover her hand when he notices her looking between her weapons drawer and her books. He'll hush her doubts with a long kiss and whispers to agree to Willow's proposal.

Angel knows that they'll be awake 'til the wee hours of the morning, addressing the same subjects sixteen-year-old girls have always addressed. Truth be told, he still can't feel comfortable under Willow's knowing smiles and her half-hidden mischievous exchanges with Buffy around the library and at the Bronze. But even that piece of normality, she deserves.

On those nights, he'll patrol alone, going back to the Rosenberg's front yard every couple hours. Sometimes he'll hear them typing earnestly or discussing long dead poets and heroes. On other times, he'll find giggling and barely understandable whispers; his name and Xander's feature dominantly in these conversations and, again, he isn't really comfortable at the knowledge. Even later, on his last round before dawn, he'll hear their soft snores. Those times, he's so tempted to climb to Willow's window and look inside. But if he can barely bring himself to do that at Revello Drive, there's no way he'd do it at a third person's home.

Finally, there are days where school, friends, training and her mother wear Buffy out. On those nights, she'll go to her room at the same time as usual; but she'll really change into her pyjamas and she'll really tuck herself under her covers and try to ignore reality in her dreams. Once, he made the mistake of climbing up her tree and going through her window when the lights were off. He'd woken her up, of course. But for those three seconds where she hadn't sensed the invasion, Angel had been greeted with one of the most serene sights he'd ever witnessed: The Slayer sleeping. Just as simple and just as contradictory.

Sometimes Angel will still go and look at her in the darkness of her bedroom. He never comes too close to her windowsill. Close enough to _see_ but not to disturb her rest. Then he climbs back down, always, disgruntled with himself for letting his imagination fly too far away, for letting the temptation to step inside and kiss her awake grow so strong that he has to leave or give in. There are a thousand scenarios, each more pleasurable than the last. He wonders if he'll ever get the courage to attempt even the mildest of them. So far, he hasn't. He always leaves her and goes through her share of patrolling.

Slaying in the Slayer's stead. That's the only gift he can offer her: Time. Small reprieves in her life.

Tonight, her light is on, one of the few on Revello Drive lit at this late hour. That means that she's up and ready to patrol - or to pretend to patrol until their hands brush or they catch each other's gazes mid-sentence and the Hellmouth, Giles' orders and every trace of respect for the dead are forgotten. Buffy would advance towards him, come to her tiptoes, tilt her head and look at him in such a way that he had no option than to pass his arms around her back and bring her even closer. He would kiss her very softly at first, then let her set the pace. Turning slowly, he would shift their bodies until she could lean against a nearby headstone for balance.

Whichever option, that light is his cue to pick her up. As he advances up her block and catches the smell of her favourite perfume and lipstick, Angel has to smile.

Buffy never dresses up just for patrol.

---

**The End**  
03/03/06


	3. Key

_**DISCLAIMER:** No.  
**WORDCOUNT:** 1183  
**SUMMARY:** There's a reason why I couldn't write this fic sooner. I couldn't. I simply couldn't. 'Surprise' is the most beautiful and the most painful moment of B/A and I just couldn't. Sorry about the ending, I'm sure that you'll understand that after such a struggle with myself I couldn't not write it.  
**THANK YOU:** To Kristi, for the beta. smooch  
_  
Written for the 'Gonna break my rusty cage and run...' challenge at Still My Girl (lj comm)

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**KEY**

_by Leni_

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Happiness was the key. Souls are eternal in their ethereal forms, never on Earth. But for a hundred years there'd been a conscience chained to a dead body. The impossible. The forbidden. The unjust.

---

Angel looked down into green eyes and saw the promise of forever, of company and understanding. It was love, of course, the three together were her love offered to him as freely as she was offering her body.

The forgiveness came in her touch; her hands soft as they caressed up his side, past his shoulders, cradled his face tenderly and brought him forward for a kiss. Buffy tasted like trust, felt like faith, and when his fingers clenched helplessly at her hips, she gasped out his name as Angel had only dreamed to hear it.

In the aftermath, he gathered her in his arms, a victor reclaiming his prize, a priest worshipping the goddess. He was both and he was neither. He was only another man in love when she turned towards him and burrowed against his forearm. There was a blush high in her cheeks, wonder in her expression as she let her naked body press against his without any rush. She kept touching him, butterfly kiss everywhere she could reach and he forced them all to the back of his mind. Later. They had time. They had the rest of the night, and the next, and the next…. Buffy kissed his lips briefly, then moved and wiggled until she was comfortable and finally relaxed gradually until sleep won over and her eyes closed against her will.

It was the feeling of her eyelashes teasing his arm, her skin warming his and how she didn't retreat when his body became colder but clung tighter instead. It was her arm shielding his body in her sleep, and Angel had never had anyone protect _him_. It was that her lips were still drawing a smile; and the times he'd watched her at night, her expression had always been so taut and worried, even in her rest. If she was dreaming, her dreams weren't like the ones which had haunted her earlier. He wondered what they were. As if to answer the unvoiced question, Buffy moved closer and muttered his name.

He stared at her, in disbelief.

'All I see is you,' she'd said once and he'd mistakenly taken it as a little girl's words. 'All I want is you,' she'd continued and only now, with her in his arms, did he realise the oath it had been. He didn't have a life to offer in exchange, but to know that she meant to share hers was…. It meant everything and far beyond his sweetest hopes. It meant his own smile as he surrendered to sleep at her side.

It was happiness. It filled his body and tugged at his soul.

Literally.

Angel glimpsed the long awaited destiny in his own dreams. The world paused around the impossible, bent as the forbidden righted itself and left a girl prey to loneliness. No. He couldn't believe that. She had friends and… and… This was Heaven being handed to him, final peace at his fingertips that somehow felt sweeter than her kisses and more welcoming than her words. Buffy would be fine. She'd heal and… and he'd waited for a century for this release.

He felt as his soul was reclaimed by its rightful home. It wanted to break free, escape the bounds of his body and return to the peace before the gypsies' spell. He was sorry. He was _so_ sorry. He'd never asked for this and a part of him raved in protest, but… It felt so right, too. Angel only needed to put distance between immediate danger and her. Only the immediate, yes, because losing her in this realm couldn't mean losing her forever.

Right?

But souls are eternal. Infinity becomes a single minute as it approaches the ether. Angel didn't need eternity, and the warm body at his side gave him pause. Just one second. One second that meant years spanned before him and he shivered at the images.

Weariness. Disillusionment. Guilt and fear and so much loneliness. That was her. A mirror of himself before he'd met her. How…? He looked down at her, tried to picture her content expression becoming colder… No. Impossible. Peace was being offered, yes, and it was so easy to give in and leave everything else behind but…. He couldn't. _He didn't._

Angel clung to his body and scratched at reality. The feeling of the sheets covering him, her breath soft and even at his side. The mattress under him and the threat of thunder from outside. He reached for Buffy and exchanged every hope of complete rest if she became his anchor. It took this moment to understand that he _did_ have something to give her, and that the alternative was unthinkable. He knew nothing except the certainty that he couldn't let this amazing girl grow embittered. He loved her and if she'd given up the little normalcy left in his life for him, he had to do the same.

---

Love was stronger than magic.

Despair was stronger than either.

For her, not to leave her alone, he became the strongest man in the world. His happiness had been the key; but for hers he willingly returned to his cage and locked it behind him.

---

Minutes later Buffy awoke, confused at the weight at her side. Her eyes opened and she turned fully when she remembered where she was, with whom. She covered the hand that had now moved to her abdomen, finding odd its tightness at her flesh. She caressed his knuckles, but as they remained so unexplainably tense, her smile dimmed. "What happened?"

Angel blinked . There'd been something…_wrong_. But now he couldn't pin it down.

He was taking too long to answer and Buffy felt anxiety creeping in. Something was wrong. She'd done something wrong. He'd thought it better and…. Oh god. She retired her hand, curled it subconsciously and only that he was still touching her – holding her? – kept her breathing.

Angel rushed to take her hand when he saw her self-confidence fleeing with every second. Very slowly, he laid back at her side and drew her to him. "Just a nightmare."

She eased into him but she still wasn't looking at him directly. Not the right answer, not when she'd been sleeping so happily. Buffy was always so strong that sometimes Angel had trouble remembering how fragile she could be. "I dreamed that I had to leave earlier." Not a lie, since that was the remaining impression.

"Oh." She smiled and shyly moved to hug him. "But you are here. We'll take care of the Judge in some other way." She kissed his nose, grinned more widely. "In fact, I think I'm liking this option better. A lot better."

He smiled back, because her happiness was always contagious like that. But a part of him kept pondering at that eerie feeling. A nightmare, yes. Only a nightmare. But for some reason he couldn't bring himself to stop touching her.

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**The End  
**04/03/06

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_**FEEDBACK:** Love!_


	4. Details

**DISCLAIMER:** Hah!  
**WORDCOUNT:** 599  
**SUMMARY:** Post NFA. Hello, fluff! This wasn't the fluff I was talking about yesterday, but the bunny attacked me at dawn. And why would I resist? I'm blaming Pat. nodnodnod This was written for the Short Fiction Challenge at Whedonverse&Beyond, a sort-of-sequel to this letter. I actually had to go through transcripts for this one!  
**THANK YOU:** To Kristi (**bashipforever**) for the help and the encouragement (and giving me FIVE bunnies for B/Aus. She's evil, people. Evil! _I_ shouldn't be allowed to i.m. with her. :-P hugs Kristi)  
**FEEDBACK:** Yay!

_written for the __Short Fiction Challenge Challenge_

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**DETAILS  
**_by Leni_

* * *

If she had to choose one reason to love Angel, this would be it. Details are his trademark.

He still doesn't know exactly what makes her tick; but he seems to remember what makes her smile. Like his unexpected apparition when she's patrolling, sliding in to cover her back, or his strong fingers kneading the muscles at her shoulders and down her back after a long fight, or Chinese delivery on Friday nights and enduring her friends' judgemental comments during their first Christmas together.

Or this letter at her bedside.

It's not that she didn't know how he felt. Those times are long past. Okay, not that long, but now she trusts when he says that he'll stay. She isn't a teenager anymore; she isn't scared that this love she feels is wrong or that one day he'll see her for the immature kid she is and leave.

She's stopped being that kid long ago. Losing him, losing her mother, losing her town and the belief that one day she'll be normal has built her into this woman. When she and Angel first began working together, Buffy knew that he'd see all the losses in her, all these holes eating at her heart since forever. He did; he discovered them one by one, showed her some she'd refused to acknowledge and then showed her all the scars he's received since he left Sunnydale.

They've changed; that's obvious. Some days it amazes her that the couple from her memories has become the him and her of today. That they still seem to fit together, that she still smiles whenever she sees him and that he will still whisper her name before they kiss. But in everything else, they've changed.

She once said that his kiss made her want to die. He'd been talking about control, about how they'd lose it if they got together. She'd wanted to shake him out of it, to tell him that she didn't care as long as he accepted her, that she didn't believe in fairytales either but she _didn't care_. Now she cares. She can't afford to lose control, not with a younger sister and dozens of teenager Slayers who look up at her as if she'd ever been a role-model.

Angel once said that he wanted to stop loving her, but couldn't. Later she'd realise that he'd been scared into that confession, that almost leaving her and then almost dying had pulled out the words by sheer fear. He'd still wanted to protect her, from himself. Now he knows better. She has protected her heart as best as she'd been able to, so much that it took her months and years to realise that she wanted him, _them_, back. Angel took all those months and years to prove to her that he'll fight for her, _with her_. He seldomly talks of love, but she doesn't need him to. His actions speak loud enough. He seldomly brings roses or teddybears, but he always says 'future' and 'we' in the same sentence.

Those are the details that matter.

His letter says that he doesn't talk enough about the important things. When will he realise that she's always known that? Cryptic Boy, she used to call him. He hasn't changed that much. But she has. There was a time when she needed to hear the words; she couldn't trust herself – Him? Them? - to deserve what he offered.

Now she believes. Every thing he does, she counts it in.

So, it's not that she didn't know what this letter says.

But it's the detail that matters.

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**The End**  
12/03/06

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**Feedback** is appreciated.


	5. Reach Me

_**DISCLAIMER:** No. No. Nononononononooooooooooooooo...  
**WORDCOUNT:** 605  
**SUMMARY:** Post 'When She Was Bad'. Have I ever mentioned that it's my fav scene?  
**FEEDBACK:** Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease? _

written for **_stillmygirl_**_. Challenge: 'Am I reaching you now'._

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**REACH ME  
**by Leni

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Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Breathe in….

Buffy hides her face in his shirt and doesn't let go. This is it. This is freedom. She can finally breathe again.

The Master is gone, really gone. The nightmare is over. She is clinging to something real for the first time in weeks and months and, truly, ever since she woke up and her first thought was to hate Xander and Angel for loving her so damn much that they'd had to bring her back. She doesn't hate anyone now. She wishes she could, though; it'd make this life easier, not to care about anything but herself and her duty and scratching her way into the next day.

She tried. How she tried! Ever since she came from L.A., Buffy tried to push Willow and Xander away but they were too stubborn or too blind to let her. Now she can hear their voices behind her, a murmur of worry and a little of disbelief. She is choosing Angel over them, after all, and she doesn't have to. Buffy knows that if she stepped out of this embrace, if she let herself go, she'd find nothing but sympathy in her friends' faces.

But she doesn't need sympathy. She got it in L.A., too. Her father took a long look at her and apparently decided that she was another victim of divorced parents and broken homes, another statistic and she couldn't yell out that she was the One Girl in the World, and wasn't it just so funny? It wasn't, of course; but she couldn't make Dad understand as he treated her like a porcelain version of his daughter, a broken one at that. So, no, sympathy is not what she wants.

What Buffy wants is comfort, and in these seconds she's getting it. Him, she tried to let loose, too. She initiated that ill-advised dance with Xander just because she knew that Angel would be around. But he also refused to stand apart; he kept coming with advice and warnings and soothing words that would have never soothed her because she didn't need words. What she needed was this moment, this embrace that reassures her that she's not alone and will never be. Theoretically, Buffy knows that anyone in the factory would be offering the same, but she doesn't care. Of them all, Angel is the only one who is meant to be in her world, the only one who won't be called away by college and a real, normal life in the foreseeable future.

She tightens her arms around him for one last second before she steps back. Her head tilts towards him and Buffy means to thank him shortly before turning around and facing her friends again; but his expression makes her stop. It is the same expression with which he approached her in the beginning of the week, full of expectance and purpose and this one question underlying his well-meaning words. Now she answers it sincerely, without the anger and frustration of the recent weeks. "Thank you," and she adds a smile. He looks at her in askance and Buffy wonders if he's that unused to someone thanking him. Then she remembers that yes, he is, so she decides to explain herself a little further. The others will do with the return of her happier self; but Angel deserves explanations. "For trying," she tells him, "And you are, you know? You are reaching me."

He smiled back, and it is one moment kept between the two of them forever. That he is there, welcoming her back, and that she understood the question he wouldn't dare to voice out.

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**The End  
**18/03/06

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**Feedback **will be loved.


	6. Bets Are Off

**TITLE:** Bets Are Off  
**AUTHOR:** Leni  
**DISCLAIMER:** I wish.  
**WORDCOUNT:** 1785  
**SUMMARY:** Post NFA. Here's the thing, I'm trying to find my take of post NFA B/A, this is Take #3. (#1 goes for BML and #2 for H-letter love. Stay tuned. LOL!)  
**THANK YOU:** To Kristi for the title.  
**FEEDBACK:** Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?

_written for __**stillmygirl**__. Challenge: 'My kind of rain'._

---

Nobody thought that it would work. They weren't sure what would happen after Angel came to them, but they'd never considered that a relationship between their friend and the vampire would be rekindled and made to last. There'd been a betting pool, even, about when the two of them would try and when they'd break up. Xander had won as his answers were 'never' and 'won't have to because they won't get back together'.

He said he'd known since he'd seen Buffy's face when she first saw Angel after so long: Coldness. In the months since, everyone had stepped in at one time or another in the middle of their 'arguments', all-out fights were more like it. Angel said that they endangered the girls too much; Buffy said that the girls were _Slayers_ and if she'd done the work, then they could do it. And that was the mildest of it. In the end, of course, Angel would go on his own to face whatever evil was threatening them and Buffy would curse loudly through the weapons room as she chose which ones to take. She always said that one day she'd find him ash and it'd be all _his_ fault.

He said that he didn't much care.

Everybody believed him, Buffy included, and no one said a word as both warriors came back sweaty and bloody, but always winners.

The both of them fought so much during their strategy meetings that even Giles had had to lecture them on team-work. Buffy had pouted and eyed the vampire angrily; Angel had rolled his eyes as he'd never dared back in Sunnydale and sat back moodily. But they were always _right_. Which Dawn considered infuriating and even Willow groused about. People who had such different approaches to battle shouldn't make almost-perfect plans and back up plans.

But Buffy and Angel worked together, at least where Apocalypses were related. Otherwise they were estranged; Buffy's coldness was met with Angel's indifference to anything that wasn't fighting. Each went their own way in their personal lives and everybody thought of it as normal - it'd been so long! - and _better_ - it'd been so much!

Catalyst. That had been Willow's definition for Spike's arrival.

It wasn't that he _did_ anything. In fact, he seemed to have matured somewhere between exploding in the Hellmouth's crater and showing up at their doorstep. Not much, since he still enjoyed needling Xander or Giles until they were ready to stake the vampire. But enough that he remained untouched as he made himself a place among them.

It was what he _didn't_ do. He didn't disregard Angel's opinions, and even though he often mocked the older vampire, they always saw things the same way and acted accordingly. He didn't hit on Buffy – much, and whenever she brought home a new boyfriend, he paid as much attention to the man as Angel had done: None at all. That attitude had raised a few eyebrows in Angel, but in Spike? It was downright confusing.

Buffy had been the most confused of them. And with good reason, weren't those two supposed to have feelings for her? If everyone had heard Andrew's story of how the two vampires had insistently tried to see her in Rome, now barely anyone believed the boy. Both Angel and Spike treated Buffy with respect, a fellow warrior that must be taken into consideration. But nothing else.

Where before Angel had allowed her to shadow him – and he'd actually _said_ that; everybody had evacuated the common room in the next thirty seconds – now it was Spike who always went with him while Buffy was to stay at the quarters and train the new Slayers.

Needless to say, their friend hadn't been pleased. In fact, pleased had been the last word in her vocabulary as she stared open-mouthed at her ex boyfriend a second before she launched a mighty tirade on him. To no avail; Angel had only shrugged, turned around and calmly left the room to his rounds of patrol.

Spike had followed him; throwing behind him a small compliment at Buffy about how good she looked when angry. He'd laughed openly as he dodged the lamp she'd hurled in his direction.

From that night on, Buffy had tried to be more... approachable. They were surprised the first time she didn't fight with Angel to the bitter end about a particular move. Or when she proposed that they trained together, again. Surprise had turned into worry when Angel accepted and when Buffy's boyfriends and Nina's visits began to dwindle over the months, they looked into each others' faces and knew it: Doom was coming and it wore romance's mask.

Indeed, it came.

A demon ready to swallow the earth into hell, take 342. Buffy, Angel and Spike in the frontlines while everybody else played back-up. Buffy had insisted that they let at least the older Slayers into it; but Spike had single-handedly wiped the floor with them while Angel raised an eyebrow and asked Buffy how many funerals she wanted to attend the next weekend. Everybody had winced; they still weren't pulling any shots. But since Spike was still smirking as he sent to the mat a very stubborn Kennedy, they'd grudgingly seen the vampires' point.

Afterwards they'd known that Buffy would never let the vampires live it down – and never was an amazingly long time for them – as Angel fell in the middle of the fight and only a very coordinated work between Buffy and Spike saved him. No, Buffy hadn't been happy on the way back home and she'd screamed at him quite explicitly that if he pulled that off once more, she'd be the one staking him because he obviously didn't care any for what it'd cost to her – to them, she'd corrected hastily – to lose a good fighter.

Then it'd been Angel's turn to try to be more accessible.

If everybody had seen the hints of a repeat of a Buffy&Angel saga before, now they were obvious as the two began patrolling together (Uh-huh. They knew that story.), their fights cut down to the necessary (A good thing that they still disagreed, since Angel's ideas would kamikaze them and Buffy's alone weren't that far off.), and when one early morning Dawn had caught Buffy coming up from the basement while she buttoned up her blouse, everyone had groaned and crossed their fingers so that their break-up didn't coincide with the End of the World, again.

A new betting pool had opened. This time whether it'd be Buffy or Angel to see reason and end it.

Willow and Xander unanimously said Buffy. Giles had actually put his trust on Angel. Dawn abstained, declaring that she liked the smile in her sister's face, and that it was kind of fun to threaten big bad vamps in case they hurt Buffy.

On the side, Spike rolled his eyes.

Since that embarrassing night at Rome, he and Angel had decided to let Buffy go. Well, not really. But if they'd told themselves that, in a couple of decades they may come to believe it - or the point would be moot. Then, after Wolfram&Hart tried to digest them and then threw them up, months had passed without anything really interesting to do. They'd separated, but he'd heard that the other vampire had headed to the new Council. Spike hadn't been hot on that idea; he was allergic to Scoobies. But then he'd thought it better and, really, was he gonna let Angel have all the fun? Wherever those guys went, Apocalypses Central took place. He'd gotten to like the good fight, and the lone avenger business was, well, _lonely_.

Being under the same roof, he and Angel had wordlessly decided that it _was_ better to let Buffy live her life. Especially since she was already living it and didn't seem to care that they were sleeping in the basement while Hunk of the Month slept in her room. It had worked. Okay, since Angel got her back and he only got a passing thank you whenever he helped out, it hadn't. Now that Spike thought about it, they really should have talked it out, he and Angel. He would have appreciated knowing that both had actually meant 'let Buffy make her choice'. As in, choosing between them. It was unfair to try to win her back without _looking_ to be out to win her back when one didn't know there was competition. Not that he'd told Angel of his real intention, either, but that was beside the point.

The point was that tonight Buffy was ensconced in Angel's arms on the couch, looking sleepy as they watched what passed for the newest hit on cable. Neither seemed to mind that there were around forty Slayers and one blonde vampire waiting to see their favourite soap opera on the TV they were holding hostage. It was ridiculous, of course. But try to feed a hundred people and see if you can buy a new TV. Giles hadn't even wanted to hear about Spike's option. What? They saved the world, why couldn't they 'forget' to pay for a new TV set?

The point was that it was raining outside, and Spike liked this copy of his old leather coat enough that he didn't want it to get wet for nothing. The point was that Buffy was muttering that she had to do patrol, even under the rain, but Angel didn't have to go with her. Finally, the point was that Angel could say something mushy like 'With you, this is my kind of rain.' and she'd buy it and they didn't care to be kissing a couple steps away from him.

Spike could have coughed, but he wasn't that needy. Instead he lit a cigarette and waited until Buffy raised her head to repeat that teenagers – even Slayer teenagers – weren't to inhale that stuff. She didn't. Too involved in her kiss, was she? So he finally shook his head, cursed to himself and loudly announced that they better tape his soap or next time he wouldn't risk his ass just to give them a free night.

As he left Slayer House, Spike couldn't help but sigh a little. It'd been better when Buffy wasn't giving him the time of day and she and Angel were rowing it around London. More fun for him, at least. Truth be told, though, he'd known all bets were lost when he'd seen Buffy's expression as she gave Angel that ultimatum in their last Apocalypses.

Well, okay, _almost_ all bets. He'd said 'none' in that silly thing the gang had started, and like it or not, it looked as if he'd be the one to win.

The End  
08/03/06


End file.
